


every kiss (it gets a little sweeter)

by writer



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/M, cliche as fuck and i don't care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-06 00:36:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6730165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writer/pseuds/writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for ichiruki month day 2: coffee shop au. rukia is a pre-law student addicted to coffee and ichigo can’t stop staring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	every kiss (it gets a little sweeter)

**Author's Note:**

> haha i'm trash. books inspired by my hell of a law class.  
> x-posted to ffn & still in lapslock bc i'm textedit garbage. cliche coffee shop au really revs my engine tbh

“charlotte, double shot latte with skim milk and extra whip?” ichigo calls. he hands off the cup to whatever basic girl in a hipster sweater ordered it and turns back around to the counter—

and comes face to face with the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen. they’re so big and so clear, so blue they almost look purple. 

“hi,” the eyes smile at him, and ichigo didn’t know eyes could talk? ichigo looks down, and there are pink lips moving, too. that explains where the sounds are coming from—eyes can’t talk, he reminds himself. he straightens up.

the girl looks expectantly at him. he stares back. she tilts her head to the right. he stares some more.

“should i repeat that?” she tries, looking a little nervous, weirded out now. the line behind her shifts impatiently—unagi cafe has become surprisingly popular as of late, but ichigo can’t tell if it’s because it just attracts a bunch of weeaboos on account of its name or because the coffee is really good—probably a mix of both, honestly.

“um,” ichigo says.

she smiles at him, one of those stiff i have no fucking idea what’s going on but i’m smiling because i don’t know what else to do smiles and repeats, slowly, “could i get a black coffee, please, with skim milk and two sugars.”

ichigo says, “right. of course. sorry about that. can i get your num—name?”

“rukia,” the girl says patiently, looking more relieved now that ichigo is actually responding to external stimuli. 

“cool name,” ichigo says.

“thank you,” she replies delicately, shifting her weight to the other foot.

“i’m ichigo,” ichigo says.

she says, “yes,” and gestures patiently at his nametag before pointedly pulling out her wallet. 

he says, “oh, right. um, that’ll be $2.75.”

when he hands rukia her coffee she says thank you with a smile so pretty and sweet, and ichigo is going, going, _gone_.

 

-

 

 

recently she’s always in the coffee shop now, dragging thick textbooks around and going through two, three, sometimes four coffees a day. their subsequent interactions haven’t been nearly as disastrous as that first time they had met—ichigo has a better grip of himself now, thank you very much—and he watches as she sets up camp in the corner of the shop, a booth that has the largest windows and the nicest view, and gnaws on the ends of her pens, scribbling notes and highlighting in her books. she lifts her cup to her lips and tilts it until it’s almost vertical before setting it down and looking sadly at what ichigo presumes is a now-empty cup. ichigo moves to the counter in anticipation as she gets up and sets determinedly for another coffee and she flashes a smile at him. 

“are you pre-law?” ichigo gets up the courage to ask her as he’s idly waiting for her coffee to fill.

rukia looks up from rummaging in her bag for spare change, looking harried. she has dark, puffy eyebags under her beautiful purple eyes. “yes,” she says, surprise coloring her tone. “how did you know?”

ichigo hands her her coffee, a single-shot caramel frappuccino this time, indicating the textbook under her arm emblazoned _law and modern society_ in gold lettering. “i’m a third-year pre-med. seems like you’re always lugging those around.” she looks down and self-consciously shifts the book under her arm.

“yeah, it’s pretty tough,” she admits. “though probably not as tough as pre-med. good luck on midterms.” she smiles and hands him a five, telling him to keep the change when he tries to hand it back.

 

 

-

 

 

“are you japanese?” she asks him one day, when business is slow and she’s watching him make her coffee over the counter. 

“yeah,” ichigo says with a wry smile. “my name is quite japanese, isn’t it. i was born there, but i’m actually half though, ‘cause my mom is white. are you?”

rukia nods, smiling. “i’m japanese too,” she says enthusiastically. “i immigrated here with my parents when i was six. where were you born?”

“no way,” ichigo says. “i moved when i was six, too. anyway, i was born in this little town—i doubt you’d know it though. it was really close to tokyo, called karakura—“

“get out,” rukia gasped. “i was born there too.” ichigo gapes for a second and then launches into an almost interrogation, what street did she live on, did they go to the same school? as it turns out, she attended one of the elite private schools in the town, and ichigo, having gone to public school, never crossed paths with her. still, it warms something inside him to think that 6000 miles and 14 years later, fate has brought them together again.

 

 

-

 

 

they’re about to close and ichigo’s beginning to clean up, pushing chairs in and wiping counters. at a call of his name, he turns around and spots rukia, waving at him with a sweet smile on her face.

he walks over to her when she beckons over at him from her table by the window. she’s sipping at a double shot cappuccino and putting away a thick textbook about abortion law in her backpack. “can i help you with anything?” ichigo says, leaning against her table.

“yeah,” she says, casually, smiling at him again. ichigo could be imagining it, but it looks pretty mischievous. it’s a sickeningly adorable look on her pretty face. “go out with me.” ichigo chokes a little on his saliva. she grins even wider at this and stands up, slinging her backpack over her shoulders gracefully. she pats him on the cheek and slips a white card into his breast pocket smoothly before pecking him on the cheek. “call me.”


End file.
